The Day I Went to Paradox
by Exterminatedaffodils123
Summary: A short story featuring one of the Doctors.


I don't suppose you've ever been to Paradox. In fact, I know you haven't. You're reading this on the Internet, for one thing. And considering the Internet was liquidised by the newspapers around a hundred years before long-term space travel (or so I'm told), you'd have a hard time reaching it. Unless, of course, you did what I did - the right place, at the right time.

I was meeting Alex at the station, nine in the morning. We were getting the train to...Grimsby, I think. Except I didn't get a train. I got a trans-temporal feedback wave, across the dimensional threshold. Or at least, that's what the Doctor told me - I'll come back to him later.

So there I was, cup of coffee weaker than an underweight seven-year-old in hand, over-packed bag tearing into my shoulder, glancing up at the clock every five seconds. 8:51:28. 8:52:33. 8:52:38. A tree.

I blinked. For a second, I didn't believe my eyes - too little sleep, too much caffeine. But when I peeled back my eyelids, the tree was still there, surrounded by another, and another, and another!

All around me, a lush, thick, relentless forest, with green stretching as far as the eye could see, but sunlight still pouring down on me nonetheless.

For the next minute or so, I didn't move. Culture shock, probably. Just taking in the fresh air, and the wind brushing against my face, and the animals. No, wait. There's no animals. No tweeting, cawing, foraging...nothing.

And that's when the soldiers came.

Around a dozen of them, all in black commando gear. Large, bulky men with large, bulky gas masks and large, bulky guns, striding through the forest. Streams of thick, clotted steam rose up through the ground, burning my throat like freshly-brewed tea. I started to gag, like I was trying to throw up and stop the gas from getting inside my lungs.

I collapsed to the ground, clawing at the damp soil, trying to find a way to stop the gas. No matter what I did - clawing up the dirt, clumping it together into piles, smothering the ground with my jacket - it didn't work.

And then there was black.

Turns out, it wasn't a forest. Well, it was a forest, just not a real one. It was a training ground for troops, to practise moving in the forest, acting under camouflage. The Doctor told me that – I told you I'd come back to him!

Anyway, by the time I woke up, I'd been moved away from the forest. I was in a hospital sort of place – beds, patients, the sheer look of death reaching out towards you. Stood over me was him – the Doctor. Tall, dark, handsome – you wouldn't want to meet him in an alley, but you'd be glad if you did.

He explained to me everything that had been happening whilst I was asleep. Where I was, when I was, how I got here. Even his plan for going home again – he'd show me where I was, and then take me home in his ship.

He even tried to tell me what the ship was for – carrying a peace platoon, or about as peaceful as a platoon can be. They were looking to bargain for a substance from the planet below, or take it by force if necessary. Something to do with the survival of the human race…?

A few minutes later, I could finally stand up again, the toxic gas pumped out of my body and a good breakfast pumped in. The Doctor took me over to the viewing room – a massive glass pane, bigger than a cinema screen, on one wall, sleek grey metal for the other three.

Outside was nothing. A vast brown expanse of rock ran up the bottom half of the glass, with a brilliant purple sky picking up the baton and running it to the top. For a second, I gaped at the view, before realising it was real. A real planet, stretching out in front of me, a real sky above it and real people stood to my side.

So that's when it sank in. This wasn't a dream, or a story, or a fantasy, or a film. It was real. I can't tell you how long I spent stood there – minutes, hours, days, but it all came to a halt when I felt a hand on my shoulder. Slowly, I followed the arm, to see the Doctor looking down at me. Time to go.

It's funny the effect alarms have on you. No matter how much you expect them, or await them, they still make you jump. Make your heart skip a beat – or a good few bars, in this case.

Within a second, all the soldiers had grabbed their guns, clicked the safeties off and set off down the corridor, the bulkhead slamming shut behind them. As he watched, a look of horror dropped down the Doctor's face, dragging on the skin and tugging it down his face. I knew the look well – horror, and a sense of crushing desperation.

Before he could act, a scream sounded down the corridor. And then another. And then another.

And then there was silence. No screams left to give.

"Come on," the Doctor grunted, before running after the fallen men outside.

Outside? There was silence, masked only by the constant hum of the engines, as the ship ploughed ahead into eternity. The Doctor stood over the bodies, staring at the bloodless, woundless massacre. Just a dozen corpses, eyes wide open, mouths agape, limbs still clawing at the floor and walls.

There wasn't any time for eulogies, though. Because further down the corridor, it was heading towards us. To this day, I've read through five different dictionaries, more books than I care to count and searched high, low and the mid-ground for the words to describe what I saw, but nothing quite fits. But whatever it was, it was getting closer and closer towards the Doctor and me.

"Run…" he muttered, turning towards me, before taking in a deep breath: "Run!"

The two of us set off down the corridor, feet pounding at the metallic deck underfoot, the artificial air growing fainter and fainter.

Suddenly, the Doctor stopped, grabbing my arm as he did so. My feet carried on ahead of me for a foot or so, before being tugged back towards my body.

"Get in here, quickly!" he shot at me, pressing a button on the wall. A door, concealed by the wall, slid open with a hiss, revealing the room inside.

It was the size of a closet, the shape of a closet, and looked suspiciously like a closet. To the side was what looked like a wardrobe, a silver door trapping the contents inside a dull grey box. The Doctor grabbed the handle to the side and tugged on it, opening the door, letting it sound in staccato and rapid clicks.

Inside were three bundles of fabric, brilliant white and quilted. After a second or so, I realised what it was – a spacesuit. Or three of them, to be precise. And I understood what the Doctor meant.

People don't realise just how awkward spacesuits can be to put on. It's like a diving suit, only much bulkier, with less manoeuvrability and about a third as fashionable. But finally, I fastened the helmet onto the slot, and it was complete. Every breath I took was mirrored by a gentle hiss of air as it was regulated up and down the systems and tanks and piping.

The Doctor nodded slowly to me, before walking over to the door.

"I'm going to distract them. I'll be right back." he said, before shutting the door. A buzzer sounded, and I felt myself being pulled out into space, flying further and further away from the wall.

In space, I finally stopped my journey, slamming to a halt, around 100 metres outside of the ship. Looking down at the sceptre in front of me, I could make out 7 things, shapes, etched across the hull. A 'P', an 'A', an 'R', an 'A'…Paradox. The USS Paradox.

I first saw the flash out of the corner of my eye. That's another problem with spacesuits; you can only see what feels like 6 inches at a time. Slowly, I rotated myself, peering at the spectacle.

An orange glow pressed outwards from the grey hull of the ship. The flames continued away from the ship, rippling against the forcefield and forming a perfect arc in space.

As time crept by, the explosion died away, until all that remained was a charred section of hull, broken away like a smashed toy. And I realised where I was. In space. Isolated. Alone. How long would the oxygen last? A few minutes, probably. How long had I been out here? A few minutes. Was it just me, or was it getting harder to…harder to…breathe…

Light. Sound. Things. It was all a blur, a whizzing of stimuli, all pressing into my mind. Groggily, I pressed my hand to my temple, trying to lock out the pain. Naturally, it didn't help. 8:52:58. What?

I rose to my feet, not taking my eyes off of the sight in front of me. The clock in the train station. It was here, right in front of me! As I looked around, I realised that so was the rest of the station. The ticket vendor, the timetables, the toilets that charge more than the train fare…everything! The cup of coffee, still lukewarm, was even by my feet!

Maybe it had all been a dream…or more likely, a nightmare. I don't know. I still don't know, to this day. I never found out if it was true or not, or if I'd really been to the future, or just had a dizzy spell. I don't think it matters. Because either way, it makes a cracking story.


End file.
